


Coming in Handy

by lilacSkye



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Bottom Ryuji, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand & Finger Kink, Kink Negotiation, Let Sakamoto Ryuji Say Fuck, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, OOC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post canon, Safe Sane and Consensual, Top Akira, please check the notes for additional tags and eventual TW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacSkye/pseuds/lilacSkye
Summary: Ryuji finds out something interesting about himself. Akira is only too happy to oblige.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji, Sakamoto Ryuji & Takamaki Ann
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ah yeah, the old trick to write bad smut in a desperate attempt to stave off writing block and IRL woes. A timeless classic lol
> 
> Sorry if this is crap, I've been feeling a little down lately and I kinda need a pick me up, hence the pure self indulgence TwT
> 
> Kind of set in the same post canon-verse of Found Home where they're adults and college students sharing a home.
> 
> please take note of the presence of **minor injury with description of blood, masturbation, mentions of choking** (doesn't happen, but it is indeed mentioned)

Ryuji's personal hell starts on an otherwise completely unremarkable Thursday night.

In hindsight, it shouldn't have surprised him. Thursdays are seriously rough, arguably the toughest day of the week, as both Ryuji and Akira have classes in the morning and then their shift at work in the afternoon. Sometimes Ryuji is lucky enough to get out of Protein Lovers early, on the rare cases the gym isn't packed with middle aged ladies in full identity crises, but Leblanc's popularity really skyrocketed over these last few years, and despite Futaba's dad's benevolence more often than not Akira is stuck stirring curry and blending coffee beans until nightfall, and by the time he makes it back home to their apartment he is normally utterly wiped out and often quite irritable.

Normally, they would get some take out on Thursdays, something quick and nice to fill their stomach before they inevitably ended up passed out on the couch instead of studying for their upcoming exams as they should be doing, sometimes money gets a little too tight for comfort, and take out isn't really viable. They're both decent cooks, so fixing up something quick with what they have in their minuscule fridge isn't really an issue.

Or at least it's not an issue until the unthinkable happens.

"Ah, _shit._ "

Ryuji's head whips around so quick he nearly pulls a muscle, and he can feel his bones creaking threateningly in protest, though he really can't care any less about it. Unlike himself, Akira hardly swears - classy, lovable dipshit - and for him to actually curse that sharply out loud it must be something serious.

And indeed, he finds Akira holding his hand up, his knife and the carrots he was skillfully slicing up until a second ago now abandoned without a care on the counter as he instead studies the blood pouring out of the thin, but long cut that now runs along the side of his left index finger.

Ryuji immediately drops the ladle and rushes to his side, and though he'll die before admitting it, his stomach lurches in discomfort as blood keeps dripping lazily out of the wound and all the way along Akira's wrist like some sort of gross and lacy bracelet.

"Crap! You really got yourself good. Hold up, I'm gonna-" Before he gets to finish the sentence Ryuji's already rushing to the bathroom, straight towards the medical cabinet in the corner, flings the thing open and nearly tears it down in his mad search for cotton and disinfectant. He's spent enough time around athletes to know to always keep a first aid kit handy.

"It's nothing, really." Akira drawls from the kitchen. He sounds annoyed. "It's already slowing down."

Finally, the elusive bottle of disinfectant decides to stop being a little shit and deigns itself to make its appearance in this mortal realm; Ryuji grabs it blindly - along a few cotton pads and a package of gauze, just in case - and runs back to the kitchen.

And that's where everything goes to shit and Ryuji's brain utterly shortcircuits.

In his short absence, Akira has moved over to the stove Ryuji foolishly left turned on in his haste. Which, on its own, is completely fine. It's nice to know someone is responsible and thoughtful enough to avoid setting the whole house on fire.

What is _significantly_ less fine is, while tinkering with the flame intensity with his healthy hand, Akira is busy sucking on his injured finger.

Now, it's not a secret Ryuji isn't the sharpest tool in the shed; everyone knows it, and he himself never really bothered to hide how academics aren't his strongest point, despite being currently enrolled in college. Still, at least _some_ of the countless biology classes he has had to attend over time must have stuck with him, right? He knows this shit, it's just an instinct to disinfect an open wound with saliva, even animals do it all the time, there is nothing wrong or strange with it at all. All he should do is to simply tell Akira he retrieved the actual medication and help him out patching his finger up.

Instead, his stupid ass mind plummets straight down to the gutter and he stands there like an idiot on the threshold, watching enraptured Akira as the latter pops his index in his mouth all the way in till his knuckle brushes against the soft and smooth expanse of his lips and _sucks_ on it, holy fucking shit, he's actually suckling and licking the whole length of it, and as Akira slowly pulls his finger out Ryuji can clearly see the tjin sheen of saliva glistening faintly under the light…

He makes a strangled sound, halfway through a sob and a gasp. He absently realizes he's shaking, and quite violently at that, whilst he's simply too aware of the newfound tension around his groin, despite the old and baggy track pants he's taken to wear at home.

But at least that's enough to break the spell and catch Akira's attention. Not that it helps matters, honestly; Ryuji's presence does not deter him from shamelessly nursing his wound, and though he has the decency to stop openly sucking on it at the very least - Ryuji positively _shudders_ as Akira legit pops his finger out of his mouth as loud as he possibly can, and he can swear Akira knows the effect it has on him, the sly little shit - he still keeps pressing his lips to it, licks on it not unlike a cat would do. Ryuji would wonder if he got that from Morgana, if his pants weren't growing even tighter from the mere sight of the slightest hint of tongue darting out and running along the abused skin.

Oh _thank_ all the gods up above Morgana had been staying with Ann and Shiho these last few days. He's not sure he would have made it to the end of the day in one piece if he had to endure that evil cat's coy teasing on top of this, uh, _predicament_.

Still, despite the rapidly growing boner in his pants, he still has shit to do. Wordlessly, he gestures Akira to follow him directly under the light beam, and Akira obeys diligently. If he notices how vice like Ryuji's grip is on the poor disinfectant spray or how stiff he is as he walks past - and Ryuji is sure he does, nothing escapes Akira's attention, especially when his friends are involved - he's courteous enough not to mention it.

"It's really not that bad," Akira finally says as he lets Ryuji take his wrist and hold it up to better inspect the wound. "It just spooked me a little bit. My knife skills are getting kinda rusty, I guess."

Ryuji is so entranced he barely hears him. He's always known Akira has nice hands - _very_ nice hands. They're long and thin, elegant, dainty if not somewhat feminine, which is only made even more evident by Akira's meticulous daily manicure routine, and yet so very firm and strong at the same time. A thief's hands, quick and precise, fingers that know exactly what they want and how to get it.

But now, holy shit, he's positively enchanted, to the point he can't help but run his thumb along the cut, unbothered by the blood smeared on his fingerpad. Akira flinches.

"Maybe don't press on it though? It kind of stings."

Oh shit. He instantly stops dead in his tracks, his ear scalding hot in sheer embarrassment.

"Sorry," he chokes out as he fumbles clumsily with the spray's cap and struggles to pop it open. He can't even find the bravery to meet Akira's eyes, even though he's all too aware he's studying him carefully, probably picking up on his bizarre behavior already. "At least it's not that deep. I don't think you're gonna need any stitches or stuff like that."

"No, of course." Akira sounds utterly unconcerned about his own wound. "Ryuji, are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah! Of course! Why wouldn't I be? You're the injured one, right?" Ryuji nearly shouts, way too brightful, way too cheerful, and he knows he's royally fucked up the moment the words leave his stupid loud mouth. In a desperate attempt to cover his tracks he hurries to spray the disinfectant on the wound and gently dabs with a cotton pad, hoping - and promptly hating himself for it a second later - the sting would be enough of a distraction for Akira to drop the subject.

Foolish and selfish of him, and he really can't be mad when instant karma strikes him back under the form of a painless medication formula. Akira hums in that particular way he does when he clearly isn't buying any of this bullshit.

"You look quite distraught. Did you come down with a fever?"

Ryui feels him move, and lifts his head up just in time to see Akira's free hand approach his face, try to reach for his forehead, which he knows would spell absolute disaster if that happened…

And if someone up there so clearly hates him and is having a kick from putting Ryuji through all kinds of embarrassment, at least it's true they also provided him with quick reflexes. A blink, not even the time to actually think it through, and he's already caught Akira's hand and gently pushed it away.

Yet another mistake. Akira's surprise at the rejection is evident, and even more so is the hurt that quickly follows. It stabs Ryuji right into the gut. He immediately takes a step back, now truly feeling sick, though not for the reasons Akira is probably thinking of.

"Sorry, I'm, uh, actually feeling kinda queasy… need toilet!"

He doesn't even give Akira time to react, which Ryuji isn't sure whether it's something to be proud of ashamed of. It's always so damn hard to catch Akira by surprise, has been since he awakened that Third Eye skill all those years ago and sometimes Ryuji thinks at least some of it has to have carried over after the Metaverse collapsed. Part of him, the more competitive side that he's learned to keep quiet over time but that never really died down, rejoices in the small victory, but it's soon drowned down by the fact Akira simply was not keeping his usual guard up around him. The taste of victory is foul and fleeting.

Still, he runs for it like his life depends on it, and Akira can't even fully call his name that he's already shutting the bathroom door behind him, bolting the lock for good measure.

This is stupid. Completely dumb. He should just quit this tomfoolery and explain himself and the raging, surprise hard on in his pants to his long time boyfriend with whom he already made love plenty of times and whom he just ditched in the kitchen to tend to his open finger. It's logic, it's reasonable, and holy shit if he's hard when he shrugs off his shirt and pushes his pants down, and he's left standing awkwardly in his underwear in the middle of the tiny bathroom, alone with his own reflection in the mirror frowning at him, harsh and judgmental.

Maybe he can still save some face. Maybe it's just a quick spurt of hormones and pent up libido. It's been weeks now since they had some action; between exams and work they are often too tired to even _think_ of sex, weird as it may sound.

Still, getting off to Akira's hands is… weird. Not to mention oddly specific. He's seen Akira butt naked more times than he can count, and while that never - ever - failed to make his dick spring to life on its own, Ryuji can't quite understand why the mere thought of Akira's hands in particular manages to make him so painfully hard so damn fast. Especially so as he tries to picture those beautiful, long fingers run along Ryuji's mouth, playfully teasing and pinching on his chapped lower lip, asking for permission Ryuji is just too happy to grant-

His knees almost buckle right there and then, and he has to grab onto the sink to avoid falling down in a heap to the ground.

Okay, _fine_ , they are doing this.

Ryuji's hand trembles as he finally slips his boxers down and his now fully erect cock springs up. He's already leaking, for fucking real, which maybe is actually a blessing since the lube is all the way back to their shared bedroom and Ryuji doesn't think he's gonna make that trip, no sir.

He heaves deeply and grabs a generous amount of toilet paper before slinking into the shower squeezed in the corner. Might as well try to keep things tidy, right?

The cool tiles against his flushed skin are both bliss and curse at the same time as he finally leans back and slides down the wall a little bit, seeking a more comfortable position. Hopefully this won't take long.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to rein in a wanton groan as his hand finally wraps around his length. The cheap paper is rough on the delicate skin, perhaps a touch too much, but Ryuji can't even bring himself to care as his fingers - too clumsy, too callous, too graceless, too _wrong_ \- quickly push up and down, chasing that delicious friction that keeps escaping his grasp at the very last moment.

"Come on," he pants, his breath laboured and heavy as though he had just run the four hundreds meter dash. "Come _on_."

Thoughts of Akira's fingers running up and down his length, tapping his finger against his overly sensitive tip... Thoughts of Akira pushing two fingers in his mouth, commanding him to suck on them, the neatly trimmed fingernails brushing against Ryuji's palate… Akira wrapping his hands around Ryuji's neck, his strong fingers pushing in until Ryuji can't breathe any more and fireworks fog up his whole field of view…

It's a miracle he manages not to scream as he finally comes. He comes _hard_ , the hardest he remembers he has ever come in his whole life. He completely, utterly spends himself on the shower floor, and were it not for the wall behind him providing some support, he would have probably blacked out and fallen. Instead, he only slumps back and slides further down until he's more or less comfortably sitting on the floor.

His whole body is throbbing, constantly seizing up and relaxing again under the shockwave of endorphine that had just laid utter waste to his brain, leaving only a fluffy, blank haze in its wake.

So, that is it, huh? That's what he wants? To be held down and nearly choked by the person he loves and adores above all? That's some kinky shit right there, one that he isn't equipped to deal with, especially while basking in the most glorious afterglow he's ever achieved on a solo session. It's also so hilariously out of character, for both him and Akira; perhaps Joker and Skull, always angry and kinda trigger happy as they used to be, could have pulled it off, but mature Akira and Ryuji? That's iffy to even think about.

Still, it was hot as fuck. It's going to be hard to go back to sweet vanilla after this.

He stands, not without some difficulty, and quickly cleans himself off, taking particular care to grab the shower spray and rinse away all the incriminating proof of his little tryst. He's meticulously washing his hands when Akira knocks on the door.

"Hey. You okay in there?"

Judging from how still very flushed his face looks in the mirror and the wet brightness of his eyes, he definitely isn't.

"Yeah. I'm almost done. Sorry for the bother." He hastily dries his hands and quickly pulls his clothes back on. He still looks like an utter mess, but at least he relieved some edge, and he didn't even make a mess. Overall he could even be proud of himself for keeping it down.

"No big deal. I ordered some take out for the night. Figured neither of us felt like cooking tonight."

"Neat."

His stomach rumbles in approval, as it always does when the orgasmic rush has passed over.

"You sure you're okay? Should I call a doctor?"

"I'm fine, I tell you." Ryuji nearly yells at the door, not really enthused by what the gothic doc and her resting bitch attitude could say once she understood he was only horny and kinky. Big no. He splashes some cold water over his face, hoping to be at least presentable.

On the other side of the door, he hears Akira heave in a deep sigh.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Fuck, he's onto something. "Yeah. Same here."

Akira hums again, not entirely convinced.

"Dinner's coming in ten minutes. I'll go set the table."

"Cool. I'm coming out now."

"Alright."

He waits the sound of slightly dragging steps moving away before he feels like he can breathe again. He sags forward, until his forehead touches his reflection in the mirror. He looks absolutely awful.

"I'm so fucked."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh boy this sucks. There's way too much talking and too little smut XD
> 
> as usual, presence of explicit sexual content, couch sex in particular. Poor couch has definitely seen better days.

After that, things are… awkward.

Life goes on, seemingly normal, just like always. As usual, college and work team up in a deadly combo to bring them down every single day. Usual stuff.

Well, not exactly.

The thing is, whatever the everloving fuck happened that day, it really screwed Ryuji up. He starts noticing things he never really paid attention before, completely unimportant shit that now, for some stupid reason, his body seems to deem _extremely_ relevant, such as how Akira tends to twirl his pen between his fingers when he's stumped on some paper, showing off near surgical dexterity and skill, or the flamboyant flair he displays when he brews a cup of his favorite coffee.

Ryuji isn't the brightest bulb who ever walked on this Earth, but even he can tell something is very wrong with him the moment he catches himself being jealous of a fucking _pen_.

He requires assistance, asap, and with Akira out of the picture for obvious reasons, that could only mean-

"I'm sorry, I just don't get where the problem is."

Ryuji huffs and leans back heavily on the rickety chair of the fancy cafe Ann dragged him to, earning himself a nasty look from the owner behind the counter. He doesn't give a crap, and were it for him he would have never set foot in this pretentious place, but having this conversation at Leblanc was simply out of the question. Between Sojiro, Futaba and Akira himself, it's waayyy too dangerous.

"The _problem_ is that this shit is not normal, and it's eating away at my sanity!"

Across the table, Ann arches a perfectly pencilled eyebrow in unsubtle disbelief, likely linked to the sanity part of his comment. He glares at her, and her eyes drop to her drink in condescending acceptance.

"I don't know, Ryuji," she delicately tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and takes a sip of her fancy-schmancy bubble tea. Unlike Ryuji's scruffy appearance, she really looks like she belongs in classy and snobby places like this. Must be the lack of obnoxious pigtails that came with her new, high-profile modelling jobs. He guesses he should be thankful she even managed to come and meet him, busy as she is. "It doesn't really feel like it's a problem to begin with. You have a hand kink, so what? It's not the end of the world. It's actually pretty tame as far as kinks are concerned."

He scowls at his own can of fizzy soda sitting miserably in front of him, barely touched, though he doesn't really see it. He's too focused reminiscing on the way Akira's fingers had tangled gently in Ryuji's hair the prior night while cuddling together on the couch, and how Ryuji had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from asking if he could suck on them.

"It's... weird." he eventually says. "I don't know how to phrase it, it's just… it scares me. It feels like a part of myself is escaping from my control. I just can't help but hyperfixate on whatever he's toying with in his hands, wishing it were me, and I just… stop functioning. I tell ya, it's creepy as fuck."

Ann hums softly. She looks pensive, almost sympathetic, as she stirs her tea with the straw. The clicking noise of plastic and ice hitting the glass is nerve-grating.

"Is that why you haven't talked to him yet? Are you afraid he might find it - quote unquote - _creepy as fuck_?"

Her tone is soft, delicate, but her words hit him with the force of a bullet train launched at top speed and he instinctively stiffens, his back hunches forward in a defensive position he hadn't felt the need to take since the day the Phantom Thieves disbanded.

He shuffles on his seat, crosses his arms, looks everywhere else _but_ at Ann, who waits patiently for an answer she already knows.

"I mean, wouldn't you?"

Somewhere just beyond Ryuji's field of view, Ann sighs.

"You're not broken or something, Ryuji, nor you need to be fixed."

"It sure feels like it."

He sees her hand leave her glass and slam, open palmed, against his forearm, but the blow holds no strength or malice at all. It's more a comforting caress than a vicious slap, honestly, and he knows first hand Ann can pack quite the punch when she really wants.

"Listen, there is nothing wrong with desiring something more _adventurous_ with your long time partner. As long as you both are into it and know what you are comfortable with, you're good to go. I'm sure he thinks the same."

"Ann, I want him to _choke_ me while he fucks me. This ain't no cheesy adventurous shit!"

Ann starts and throws a surreptitious look right and left, her cheeks suddenly flaring a bright crimson red that reminds him of her old Panther leather suit. Luckily, he learned to actually keep his voice down even when he gets worked up, a more frequent occurrence that he cares to admit, and there is no sign of any of the other customers having caught whiff of the conversation. He's pretty sure the owner guy would have jumped on the occasion to give Ryuji the boot otherwise.

"Yeah, well," Ann, bless her soul, actually tries to look unperturbed by his admission. "That's _something_ alright, but I'm sure you can work it out, right? I mean, the two of you have been together a long time now, surely you have already tried out something…"

She trails off dejectedly as Ryuji flushes beet red from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair.

"You've been vanilla all this time? For real? _You_ of all people?!?"

Oh, now _that_ was offensive! What does she think he is, Kamoshida?!?

His glares at her again, and at least she has the decency to look apologetic. "Sorry, that was mean of me. It's just that, back then, you were doing all you could to get a girl and get laid so I thought…"

Ugh, just the memory makes him cringe so hard his whole face hurts.

"Yeah, well, back then I basically ran on hormones and anger, y'know. Didn't really count."

"So basically you were a teenager like everybody else."

He balls up the paper napkin next to his drink and flicks it at Ann, who nonchalantly parries it and lets it flutter back to the table.

"I just wanted to take a look, okay? I didn't even know what I would have done in the hypothetical scenario a girl actually wanted me. It wouldn't happen anyway, so it never crossed my mind."

Ann pats her lips with her finger, the crimson nail polish glittering happily under the light. She throws him an odd look, and Ryuji has the uncanny feeling he's been scanned and evaluated. He leans back again, as though that would be enough to protect him from Ann's sharp judgment.

"I mean," for some reason he feels compelled to defend himself. "Even when I found out I also liked guys, and Akira… we didn't really jump right into it, y'know. It took a while. I didn't want to mess it up."

"Aww," she coos, "For all your teen pervying, you actually are a pretty innocent and pure soul. Color me impressed."

"Ha, ha, _very funny_." He tries to kick her shin from under the table - more like a nudge, but he's willing to pretend - but once again it seems like she's reading him like a book and dodges without issue, sending his foot slamming straight against the table leg. Her empty glass and his soda can wobble dangerously in the blow's aftermath.

"Listen," she says once she has made sure Ryuji's reckless assault hasn't reaped victims among their drinks. "It's not that bad, really. You just need to talk to him and find an agreement. You know Akira, he will not judge or shame you. The two of you can work it out just fine."

Easy for her to say. She and Shiho have been glued by the hip since they were barely more than toddlers, and even more so now that the two have moved in together. They have years of experience under their belts, way more than Ryuji can boast of, and their chemistry is unparalleled. A perfect balance, despite all the shit they had to go through.

Which, now that he thinks about it, is probably what is making him so hesitant; over time he's relied so much on Akira, and so few times he's been able to repay that kindness in full, that he's not really enthused about the idea of asking him this favor on top of all of that. All because he can't keep it in his pants.

This sucks. For real.

"What if he says no?"

Ann doesn't even let him finish the question. "You know he's not going to."

Akira _would_ do anything to help out his beloved ones, that's for sure. Ryuji can easily picture him stomaching his discomfort just to make Ryuji happy, and that only adds to the sense of anxiety that's been turning his insides upside down every so often as of late.

"What if he doesn't like it?"

She shrugs. "Can't know until you try."

"You seem very confident." He finally takes a sip of his pitifully lukewarm soda, and he nearly spits it in disgust.

She smiles seraphically, but Ryuji can swear the temperature of air around her drops a few degrees lower. "Once a wingman, always a wingman, remember that."

"Is that a threat?" He asks as they finally stand. He resigns himself to throw his drink in the trash, while Ann makes her way to the counter to return the glass. He only now remembers he hasn't paid for his soda just yet, but by the time he tries to reach for his wallet Ann has grabbed him by the arm with a thousand watts smile that sends chills of dread down his spine. He lets her drag him out of the cafe into the busy street.

"Mayy~be."

* * *

But despite Ann's sweet, singsongy threats, it takes Ryuji a while to process the idea.

He doesn't do it on purpose, for real. Every day, with the ever growing and mounting pressure of his pent up sexual desire, he wakes up intending to finally talk to Akira, explain what's going on. He needs to find the proper words, to string up a proper and orderly speech so that he doesn't accidentally spook Akira and cause him to run for the hills, away from this madman. But every time the day ends and they find themselves cuddling in bed playing on their phones or doing some late night reading or whatnot, Ryuji's drive has already eroded to nothing.

He's sure Akira has noticed something, but when asked he just shrugs it off with the perfect and impenetrable smile that Ryuji desperately wishes he could borrow for this conversation. Awful flashbacks of that one time Ryuji somehow got dragged on stage during the school festival flash through his mind every time that happens.

Maybe he should just wait for it to pass on its own. Ann would probably kill him later on, but it does seem the most reasonable thing to do. Wait it out and see what happens.

That particular plan flies straight out of the window a week after he talked with Ann.

"Ann called earlier," Akira says casually as he sets the console gamepad aside, after he successfully demolished Ryuji for the fifth time in a row with that one broken dlc character that wields a gun. Ryuji is so overwhelmed by the utter defeat he doesn't instantly recognize the threat for what it is.

"Oh yeah? What does she want?"

Akira shrugs, moving closer to Ryuji in the process, so close their knees are touching with every breath they take.

"Just saying she's going to keep Morgana at her place a little longer."

That is the moment Ryuji's brain finally thaws out of its _Failure!_ -induced hibernation and the cogs start spinning, zero to one hundred in half a second. All of a sudden the room turns from pleasant, if not slightly chill as to save on the electric bill as much as they can, to hellishly boiling.

"Oh yeah?" he says again, but his voice quivers so much it's a miracle he's even intelligible. "Anything else?"

If Ann has spilled the beans he's sooo going to put that pic of her wearing a green facemask and lemon slices to cover her eyes on every social media in existence.

Akira throws him a very strange look that makes him squirm. He _knows_ , he knows Ryuji's trying to bullshit him and he's not going to take it without a fight, not this time.

For some reason, a sense of excited anticipation surges up alongside the existential dread that realization inevitably brings with it.

"Yeah… actually. She said she's _leaving you in my hands_ now, whatever that means. Any idea?"

Oh, fuck you Ann. Way to throw a bro under the bus.

"I dunno, man. You know she's weird."

Akira huffs and stands up in a single fluid motion, and before Ryuji can even begin to protest he's already by the TV and console, swiftly turning them off.

"Hey! Not fair!"

The stare Akira levels on him is enough to incinerate any of Ryuji's piss-poor attempts to deviate the conversation on the spot.

"Alright," he begins calmly, except Ryuji knows Akira well enough to see he's in fact _not_ calm at all. He turns around slowly to face Ryuji, his steps are apparently lazy and measured, and to Ryuji's trained eyes these are all massive red flags because when Akira rears back and takes his time it means he's getting ready to _pounce_. "Alright, I think we need to talk."

Shit. He's definitely _not_ ready for this. All his fancy mental rehearsals have just gone poof, leaving a dreary blank in their wake.

"Wha?"

"You heard me. We're talking. _Now._ "

The sharp, commanding edge is doing Ryuji's nether regions absolutely no favors. He's already starting to feel quite hot around the neck.

"O...kay? I mean we always talk, so…"

He watches Akira slowly make his way back to the couch and he instinctively squeezes himself in the corner until the armrest digs painfully into his back, but Akira ignores Ryuji's attempt to create some space and leans over him, eyes of steel boring holes in Ryuji's.

"Ryuji," his name sounds so soft, so loved, that Ryuji feels like someone has just wrapped something around his heart and gave it a powerful squeeze. "What's going on? You've been avoiding me for almost two weeks now."

"Avoid you? Nah man, I'm not avoiding you! I'm just a little tired, between work 'n' college shit…"

But it's incredibly hard to lie to Akira under normal circumstances; he just can't do it when Akira is looking so sad and dejected. If he had highly mobile ears like dogs and cats do, they'd definitely be all droopy now.

Alright, he can do this. He sits back a little straighter. Akira backs down a little bit to give him more space, but never breaks eye contact. In fact, he's still way too close for comfort, almost on Ryuji's lap, straddling his waist.

"Okay, I get it. It's kinda weird though. As in, weird _weird_. You're probably going to find it gross."

Akira arches an eyebrow, unamused and still completely unwilling to back down. "I'll be the judge of that."

He crosses his arms in somewhat patient wait, his long fingers tapping slowly the inside of his elbow. As though pulled with a magnet, Ryuji's attention catches on that, and before he knows it he's completely captivated by the slow, wave-like movement. The room definitely feels a _lot_ hotter.

"Yeah… it's, uh, it's about that."

Akira looks confused for a second, so much that his maddening tapping halts. "About what?"

Gosh, he can't spell it out loud, not without bursting in embarrassment. He already feels like his whole body is being set aflame and his throat is closing, his body's way to prevent Ryuji from letting out its shameful secret.

He points Akira's hand with a trembling finger.

"That… your hand."

"My hand?" He unfolds his arms and hold his palms open in front of him, staring at them with such intensity Ryuji would think he's trying to read his own future. The pale ghost of a scar glints from his index. "You mean when I accidentally cut my finger?"

"Y-Yeah, kind of." No, he really can't do this, it's too much for him to take. He's sure he's about to melt to a gross puddle of embarrassment in the span of seconds.

"But what about it? It healed up just fine."

Oh shit, he's starting to hyperventilate. He can't even run for it, cause by now Akira is basically sitting on his lap for real - extremely dangerous location at the moment - effectively trapping him in place. Sneaky bastard.

"Ryuji, are you-"

" _Iwantyoutofingerfuckme._ "

The world halts on the spot, too astonished Ryuji actually had the gall to say that out loud. Time freezes. Silence falls. Akira blinks. Several times.

" _Pardon?_ "

Ryuji's heart has reached a full galloping pace. It slams against his ribcage, trying to break the bone that's keeping it prisoner, and Ryuji's tempted to just rip his chest open and let it out, just so _some_ part of him can escape this dumpster fire of a situation and run, run very far from all of it.

But he can't obviously. All he can do is to hide his face in his hands, knowing fully well he's finally ruined everything again his world has officially ended _again_. Will he ever stop fucking up everything he cares about? It seems like the more he tries to do his best the more he ends up royally messing up.

"I'm sorry. I dunno what's wrong with me."

It seems like the whole world has gone silent, just to pity him. It's not like that of course, the world hasn't stopped, it never stops for anyone, it just leaves people behind when they don't fit the standard anymore and that's exactly how Ryuji is feeling right now. It's like being back to a teenager angry with the world for denying his big chance at life.

After what feels whole aeons of isolation and solitude, something entirely too warm wraps around his wrists.

"Ryuji."

Akira's voice is soft and gentle, a lot more than Ryuji's been expecting. Maybe he's hallucinating, but the feel of his hands over Ryuji's wrists as they gently try to nudge them apart is too real - too warm - to be a mere dream.

"Ryuji, can you please look at me?"

His whole body screams, screeches how terrible of an idea that is. But the hands are as firm as they are gentle, and somehow his shield goes down, leaving him exposed to Akira's rightful wrath.

Except… he doesn't really look that angry at all. He's quite contrite, but more akin to someone lost in thought and mildly worried. Not someone grossed out of his mind.

"Sorry," As always, Ryuji speaks before he can think twice, and as always he has to apologize.

"It's fine. I'm not offended, if that's what you're afraid of. Quite the contrary."

He really should be, though. It doesn't feel right Ryuji is the one who has the kink and he's freaking out way more about it than the object of said desire.

He's tempted to ask why he is not as weirded out as he should be, but Akira precedes him with impeccable timing.

"When did you find out?"

He's taking this way too lightly. "... Two weeks ago. When you had that nasty run in with the knife. When…" he blushes and chokes again as he recalls the exact image.

"Go on. Say it out loud."

Damn him. "When I found you sucking onto your finger to stop the bleeding."

"Hmm. Interesting. So if I do _this_..."

He proceeds to place his thumb on Ryuji's cheek, so close and yet so far from the corner of his lips. Ryuji's mouth instantly goes dry as Akira gently rubs his fingerpad along his lower lip, light as a feather. A strangled sound escapes him when Akira pushes lightly against it. Akira flashes him a satisfied smirk.

"Is this what you want?"

Yes, yes, desperately. He opens his mouth to answer, but Akira takes the chance to run his finger along the inner edge of Ryuji's lip and that's all it takes for his brain to shut down entirely. His teeth clamp around the soft flesh, only to let go with a startle once realization of what he's done dawns on him.

"Go for it." Akira gleefully encourages him, pushing his finger deeper until Ryuji feels the nail brush against the tip of his tongue and oh _goddamnit_ he's already so hard it hurts and-

"I've got you," Akira breathes in his ear, hot and quiet. He feels a hand, the one he's not busy worshiping, snake past the waistband of his baggy pants, pushing down his boxers as well. He lets out a hiss when those perfect fingers wrap around his length, delicate and strong. "I've got you. Just let go."

Ryuji kinda hates how easily Akira gets him out of the dark pit his mind is, forcefully drags him out of the self pitying spiral with no trouble at all and gives him something to anchor himself to. He clings to Akira for dear life, kissing and sucking on those beautiful hands that have given so much and taken nearly nothing in return, as Akira slowly pumps him, teases the leaking head with feathery touches…

It's over in a flash of blinding white light, way too soon for his tastes.

Once again, he feels feverish as he slumps on the couch, suddenly spent and too boneless to keep himself upright. Akira nearly topples down on him, but manages to avoid crashing down on Ryuji's stomach by grabbing on the back of the couch at the very last second. They both are panting ridiculously heavy, and Ryuji has just enough presence of mind to notice the lovely crimson Akira's whole face has turned.

At last, Akira pushes back, leaving him enough space to breathe. He cringes as he settles back, basically sitting on his calves while still straddling Ryuji's waist. As Akira haphazardly wipes his hand on his pants and readjusts Ryuji's unsalvageable clothes, something hard pokes Ryuji's thigh, effectively pulling him out of post coital bliss.

"Wait, hol' up. You still haven't-"

"Later." Akira cuts him off, and he can't completely hide how strained his voice is, how heavy his breathing has turned. His eyes are still dark and bright, pupils dilated in lust and want and Ryuji feels like he's been swallowed whole in that sheer desire, so much that his now spent cock quivers feebly in response already. "Is this all you wanted?"

Ryuji swallows thickly. "... Yeah. Well, kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Yeah, well," he groggily pushes himself up to a proper sitting position and scratches the back of his head. Despite the unexpected - but definitely welcome - turn this conversation hs taken, it's still somewhat embarrassing to be talking about this shit out loud. Just putting it into words makes it sound a lot more off-putting than Ryuji cares to admit. "I wouldn't mind if we could start from this and get to more, uh, _adventurous_ stuff."

Akira takes in a sharp breath that sounds a lot like a barely choked moan.

"I'm not against it." Akira finally stands up. He looks an absolute wreck and it's the hottest thing Ryuji has ever seen. "However, I do want to know exactly what you want, and I'm not doing anything until we have agreed on boundaries and a safety system."

Ryuji nods absently. "Yeah, that sounds great." Then realization hits once again and that's nearly enough to make him jump out of his skin. "Wait a sec, for real? You're not upset? Not grossed out?"

"Not really. I've seen way worse." Akira says with a casual shrug that really doesn't fit with the clear erection poking out of his pants. "Honestly, I'm more upset by the fact Ann came to know about your sexual preferences before I did."

"Sorry," Ryuji apologizes, and he means it. He guesses he can see Akira's point; he knows for a fact he'd be pretty sad if Akira confided intimate worries with Makoto before him. "Wingman rights."

"Hmm. I wonder. Care to show evidence of your repentance?"

Oh. Oh, Ryuji sees where this is going. He grins and pushes himself to his feet. Akira lets him wrap his arms around his waist and pull him in a tight embrace.

"Let me guess, do I need to prove my loyalty to you in the bedroom?"

Akira grins as well and leans back, burrowing himself in Ryuji's embrace. "You read my mind."

And as Akira writhes and arches off the bed beneath him, Ryuji's name cascading out of his lips like a mantra, Ryuji wonders how could he ever think to almost let something so unimportant come in between them.

As long as he is with Akira, he knows he's going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm no expert, but please make sure you always talk things out with your partner when trying this kind of stuff TwT Always make sure you're safe before anything else TwT
> 
> anyway, I hope you enjoyed, take care, and to next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's clear I don't really know what I'm doing, I'm winging it on the spot lol hopefully it's readable at least
> 
> Please be safe out there y'all, and take care


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